


i am in misery (there ain't nobody who can comfort me)

by damnmechanics (emmamanic)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: & lots of it, AU: Meet at a wedding, Drinking, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmamanic/pseuds/damnmechanics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Prompt- two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU)<br/>In which Clarke's had a bad experience with the whole 'marriage' thing, Bellamy's easily pissed off and there's plenty of Smirnoff to go around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am in misery (there ain't nobody who can comfort me)

"Let’s all raise our glasses to the beautiful couple. Cheers!"

The entire reception hall is filled with buzzing as people clink their glasses together, downing the crystal liquid inside. Clarke’s no exception, and she pours her head back as she finishes the glass. Lazily, she sets it down with a clunk, tracing the rim with her forefinger as she sits alone at a table in the back of the dance hall.

Of course, Octavia’s wedding had to be a lavish occasion, decor tasteful and butterfly blue. She was dazzling, as was her groom, and Clarke almost missed the bitter taste of regret burning her throat as she flagged a waiter for another glass of champagne. It’s not that she hated weddings- no, she just hated being reminded of that douchebag she had once almost married. Her traitorous thoughts almost turned to him again when a heavy presence clunked itself in the chair next to her.

"Isn’t this just fucking festive." 

The man’s wearing a white dress shirt, tie and vest discarded- probably removed right after pictures. His hands are rubbing the bridge of his nose, and his eyes are closed. Clarke almost grins spitefully at the image- she’s somehow managed to attract the (other) most miserable person at the wedding. 

"Alcohol helps." The man’s eyes open and she can see his face now. "I’m Clarke Griffin." She holds out her hand from sheer muscle memory.

"Bellamy Blake," he snorts, lifting a full glass to his lips, swallowing it, and wiping his mouth. "Brother of the bride."

 He sets down the glass, leaning back in his chair. Clarke looks him over. "And why are you sitting here?” Bellamy shrugs.

"I didn’t feel like being around anyone I actually liked."

Clarke nods. “Amen to that.” She chugs the next glass and looks at it, analyzing the contents. It’s too damn hard to get drunk off champagne, and since it was later in the wedding, the bartenders were using the cheap stuff. 

"Why are you here?" Bellamy asks, looking her over. "Does O hate you? That would explain your seat in the nosebleeds."

Clarke smiles- almost. “I’m kind of like her boss. We’re friends, but she knows how I feel about weddings right now and graciously allowed me to wallow in my own self-pity.”

Bellamy nods. “And you’re enjoying yourself, wallowing?”

Clarke snorts at that. “Oh, you bet. Look at me.” Bellamy does.

"You’re a ray of frickin’ sunshine, princess."

"Princess?" She asks, her words starting to slur just a bit around the edges. 

"Yep." Bellamy offers no explanation to the nickname. Clarke doesn’t really mind, though, because at least he’s someone to talk to that’s not babbling about how much fun this is or how wonderful everyone looks, with the TLC bullshit she hates.

Clarke waves over a waiter and asks (begs) him for a drink, only to be told that she’s been cut off. She sends a nasty look to the off-duty bartender who gives her a look in response,  _what can I do?,_ and continues scrubbing the bar down. She returns her eyes to the table with a sigh. This is  _not_ how she pictured the night going. Bellamy watches the whole thing, bemused. After the exchange, the mood visibly lightens, some sort of barrier crossed. _  
_

"Well, then. This has taken a turn for the sober." Clarke says, crossing her arms. "Now we might actually have to talk."

Bellamy grins ruefully. “Shame- you not talking was what brought me over here in the first place.” Clarke shrugs.

"You win some, you lose some." Bellamy looks over to her.

"And what are we supposed to talk about without alcohol?" Clarke raises her hands above her head, the universal gesture for ‘I have no effing clue’.

"We could always talk about ourselves." Clarke says, looking over at Bellamy. She leans into the table and notices that he shifts his body, too, closer to her. She's taken enough psych classes to know what that means, and sends him a look that just screams flirtation at best and desperation at worst. He returns fire.

When did this become flirty? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t complaining.

"Fine." He says, leaning in languidly. "I’ll relent. Why are you miserable?"

"Wait!" Clarke bursts, ignoring the question and snapping her fingers. "I’ve got a minbar in my hotel room. The prices are killer but we could go dutch?" Clarke leaves off the 'are you coming with me to my room where there is privacy and lots of sexual tension' question, knowing full well that it’d be a lot more pitiful if she was alone tonight.

"What are we waiting for?" He says, standing. Clarke nods and shoots Octavia a quick text-  _feeling sick & heading out, gorgeous wedding, love you!- _before grabbing her bag and heading towards the elevator. Bellamy gets on behind her, his suit jacket draped over his arms (when did he have a suit jacket?) and she tells the elevator attendant what floor she’s on. 

The elevator’s quiet and she almost has time to be awkward but she doesn’t because this is a fancy-shmancy hotel with very fast elevators. Once she gets off, she fumbles for her room key in her purse and gets the door unlocked, taking off those damn high heels the second she enters the room. She hadn’t had time to unpack so her suitcase was still lying open on the bed, the covers bright white in contrast to the burnt orange walls.

"The minibar’s over there." She says, pointing to the bar in question while pushing her suitcase off of the bed, and sitting on it. The bed, not the suitcase. Bellamy goes over and leans down, opening the door and pulling out a vodka.

"Smirnoff." He says, turning to Clarke with a smile. For a second, she just focuses on him, because honest to God he’s pretty damn attractive. Who knew Octavia’s brother was this hot? And in her hotel room. Alone. It’s like the freaking planets were aligning.

She smiles back and reaches her hand out. When he gives her the drink she forgoes a glass, taking a sip from the bottle. It’s sweet, and burns strong on the way down.  _Good_. She hands it to Bellamy, who’s coming to the other side of the bed and sitting next to her. He takes a sip himself.

"Oh, God, that is sweet," he says, looking at the label. "Whipped cream? Are you kidding?" He shakes his head and hands the bottle back to Clarke. She grins.

"I like it," she states, and takes another swig. Bellamy shrugs and takes the bottle back, drinking it anyways. She doesn’t look at how his jaw clicks when he swallows. Definitely doesn’t.

Clarke leans against the headboard of the bed, eyes closed. Suddenly, she realizes how loud the silence is and looks for the remote, reaching over Bellamy’s chest- yeah, she knows- to get it. She flips the TV on and changes it to the music channel because she’s not going to go get her ipod right now, it’s halfway across the room for god's sake.

"Mood music?" Bellamy says, grinning at her. He’s showing all the telltale signs of attraction- pupils dilated, leaning in, looking at her. Then again, these are also the telltale signs of alcohol intake so Clarke doesn’t really know what to think. She rolls her eyes.

"I don’t like silence."

"Okay." Bellamy says evenly, taking the bottle back. "You never said why you were so miserable." Clarke groans.

"God, do you really want to hear about my tales of woe? What about you? You were awfully chipper when you first sat down."

Bellamy grins. “I had just talked to an old friend.”

"Friend?" Clarke questions, disbelieving. Bellamy shakes his head.

"This jackass who screwed my mom over, he was here. I didn’t expect him. Things were said. Things were thrown" Bellamy admits, lifting the bottle. "Mostly fists."

"Lost your temper?" Clarke says.

"A little." He lowers the vodka and hands the bottle back. "But he deserved it."

"Not saying he didn’t." Clarke says. Bellamy nods.

"Your turn."

"Stupid story," she sighs, running her hand through her hair. "I was engaged, and it didn’t happen. I haven’t been too excited about weddings since."

"What, did you two break up?" Bellamy says, tone even, looking at her.

"Sort of. His childhood friend moved to our city, and he still had feelings for her." She finishes, taking a sip before setting the bottle down completely. "I ended it."

"Sucks." Bellamy comments. All at once, Clarke realizes that the alcohol has definitely gone to her head this time and Bellamy is very, very close to her. She turns towards him.

"You didn’t have a date for the wedding." Bellamy says. He’s not asking.

"No." Clarke shakes her head. "And you didn’t either."

"No."

The silence is heavy for a split second because Clarke is looking at his mouth and how damn near perfect his lips look right now.

"Did you, uhm, get a room here?" She asks, their faces closer than they should be.

"Nah." Bellamy says, pulling back. "I was just gonna drive back after the reception."

"And you aren’t now?" Clarke inquires, voice light.

"I found something better to do."

He’s blatantly flirting. Or maybe not. She has no idea what’s going on in his head but she’s banking on the fact that she looks reasonably good right now and he’s in her hotel room. 

"You know," She says, leaning back in, voice conspiratorial. "We’d just be adding fuel to the cliche if we hooked up at a wedding."

"You know," Bellamy says, leaning closer than her. "I’ve never given a shit about cliches."

And suddenly the mood music (alright, she’ll admit, it was a little bit mood music) isn’t necessary because Bellamy’s turning and she’s grabbing his hair and then they’re kissing. It’s messy and tastes like vodka and Clarke won’t admit how long it’s been since this has happened and she has really, really needed it.

Bellamy’s running his hand up her thigh, under her dress, and Clarke’s already pulled up his shirt. God, he’s all hard, abs and arms and it’s too hot in this hotel room, and she’s panting and so is he. He starts kissing her neck and she just completely loses it, pulling him even closer…

 

Clarke wakes up with a massive headache.

Yes, she’s half naked and there’s a half naked Bellamy in bed next to her but that doesn’t matter at the moment because that was the good part of last night and the bad part is this headache she has right now. She sits up in bed, looking blearily at the sunshine coming through the crack in the window shades, far too bright. Bellamy blinks awake next to her, feeling the movement. He looks up at her and smiles hugely.

"Morning." He says, stretching. Clarke waves him off.

"Shhh." She says, groaning and leaning back into the pillow. Bellamy chuckles. 

"Not a morning person?" He smiles.

"Not a hangover person," she answers, though the former's true as well. Bellamy, meanwhile, is getting out of bed and hasn’t put a shirt on yet, which she fully appreciates even in her state. 

"There’s still some Smirnoff." He jokes, picking the bottle off the floor.

"Don’t even talk about it." She says, blinking her tired eyes. Bellamy grins and grabs his shirt, ending the viewing party, much to Clarke's disappointment.

"I’ve got to head down to Ark," he says, rubbing his eyes. 

"Time waits for no wedding." Clarke jokes, sitting up, then catches his words. Ark.. "I didn’t know you lived in Ark."

"You didn’t know anything about me, princess." He says, sending her a wink. Clarke smiles this time, half-awake by now.

"Where did ‘princess’ even come from?" She asks, tilting her head. Bellamy shrugs.

"It fits." He puts his shoes on and looks over to Clarke. "Coming?" He asks, jangling his keys in one hand.

"What?" She's digging a shirt out of her suitcase- and old blue one- and throwing it on, not really listening to his words. 

"We’re going to the same place. Might as well go together." He says, tone nonchalant. This time, she listens.

"You know, this is all happening really fast." Clarke comments, pulling pants on as she stands up. Bellamy shrugs.

"Yes." He says, nodding. Then he breaks into a grin. "You coming?" He says, gesturing to the door.

Clarke smiles. 

"Yeah."


End file.
